


Firebird

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Series: The Winged Jedi [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Female Obi-Wan Kenobi, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:37:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13597905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: There are rumours of what happened on Reitein, about a Separatist weapon and a wormhole. All that's known for sure is that the 212th and their General were fired upon, then vanished.





	Firebird

In Cody's mind, there was nothing more reassuring than being on the battlefield with Kenobi. Skywalker, Tano, all the other Jedi paled in comparison to her. Even when her ship had been shot down on Geonosis and he'd thought she might have died, she came to their rescue all over again. A shadow passed over them, and when they looked up to assess this new threat, they began to cheer. 

"It's Firebird!" Waxer hollered. "Firebird's here!"

And there she was, her massive thirty foot wingspan completely unfurled and glittering like blazing copper. Watching her in the air was like watching an aerial ballet; she could twist and spin in the most elegant and lethal of ways, pushing off one foe to launch into the next, neatly slicing them in half before her wings would snap out and with one push, rocket her off across the battlefield. She was a force to reckon with on the ground as well, trained as she was by a landed master. Those beautiful appendages would fold up, nestled closely to her back, only to burst from their hiding space to defend her, knocking an opponent unconscious or using the powerful muscles to blow up dust. That was not even to mention when she combined her natural predatory nature with the Force, when she would land with a sound like a thunderclap and Separatist forces were blown all the way across the field. 

It was really no wonder Skywalker had no fear of heights, no fear of death. The amount of times she'd dropped her former Padawan into the midst of a heated battle were countless and more than once, she'd used him as a partner in her sky dances. 

Cody himself had never had the pleasure and wasn't entirely sure he wanted it. It was always fun to see the shinies underestimate her strength, however. With her wings hidden away under her brown cloak, her tall, but lean form dwarfed by the loose fabric, she seemed like not much of anything. All of her colour-bearing men knew, though. Cody had been there when she carried Waxer and Boil back from a shelling, barely landing to place them on the ground before those deceptive muscles pushed her back into the air. 

She was a legend, and Cody was more than happy to be part of that legacy. He would gladly trail in her streaks of bronze, gold and copper, shining differently in every sun, much like her hair. 

She was not only different on the field, but off as well. 

Most Jedi were not cruel Generals. They were mostly apathetic, the brothers existing around them in a co-habitative manner more than a cooperative or familiar one. There were only a few battalions lucky enough to have loving, caring Generals. Plo Koon and the Wolffe Pack, Aayla Secura and her 327th, Anakin Skywalker (and by proxy, Ahsoka Tano) and the 501st. Above them all, however, she was the Jedi that cared the most. 

In the med bay, surrounded by wounded, but functioning, clones, she would sit on the ground, wings fully extended. These were his best memories of her. 

* * *

"General?" Trapper asked, sitting up with only a mild wince. She smiled gently and ran her fingers through his hair. 

"I know you all get very restless being stuck in the med bay. I thought this might be a good diversion." She gestured for Boil to put down the box he was carrying in the open space in the middle of the bay. Waxer followed shortly with a smaller box, then the two troopers left. 

"What are we doing?" Blair asked from the bunk above him. 

"I know many of you lost pieces of your armour. I was thinking that as a bonding exercise, I would paint your replacement pieces and you could help me preen."

"'Preen', sir?" Kayd cocked his head to the side. 

She pulled off her robe and laid it on the back of a visitor's chair. Hesitantly, careful of the confined space, she lifted her wings from their stiff position tight against her back. 

"'Preening' is the technical term for the cleaning of feathers." She explained. "Even for my own species, my wingspan is abnormally large, though my body is not. Water runs right off the feathers and even only partially unfolded, the sonic is too small to clean them for me."

"You want us to help you?" Trapper could barely believe it. 

She smiled brightly. "Indeed I would."

"Aren't they sensitive?" Kayd murmured. 

"My feathers themselves have little to no feeling, but the underflesh is quite sensitive, yes."

"That makes sense." Trip nodded to himself. "So they can block projectiles."

She blinked. "I'm surprised you remember it."

He laughed. "I swear, every time you use your wings to shield us from debris, the Commander's heart stops. I have to keep reminding him that your feathers don't just look like metal, they pretty much are."

"A little more organic, but functionally, yes." Her face shifted back to a more neutral place. "Of course, you are free to say no. I will not force you. Though, even if you don't wish to preen me, I would still like to paint your armour. Though you are free to object to that as well."

The seven or so men inside the med bay looked amongst each other. 

"I don't know how." Trapper said. "But I'd love to."

The other brothers were quick to agree, all shuffling over to the centre area. 

"I'll sit on the floor. You can grab some of the folding chairs and set them up. It will likely be easier that way. My wings are quite broad as well."

"You know best, General." Kayd chuckled. 

She helped them get all set up, then slowly uncurled her wings. Unlike other flying species, she possessed four wing joints instead of three; the one in her shoulder, the "elbow", the carpal joint and then an auxiliary joint. The auxiliary allowed her to make sharper, more precise turns, collect additional lift or drop it, and to fold the last five feet of her span underneath the rest of the wing to allow her to stand straight. She reached back and pulled all of her hair over her right shoulder, revealing the pale slope of her back. 

"Oh, General . . . " Kayd - concussed but otherwise okay - knelt down behind her, fingertips gently running over barely-visible scars. 

"I got captured." She explained, glancing over her shoulder. "Those are from the blinders they held my wings with. The marks carry around my torso as well. They were dreadful, but less so than having them remove my wings, or an attempt at it."

Kayd scowled, likely wishing he'd been alive when whoever had done this to her had been around. The chilled silence from the other brothers made her chuckle. 

"I may be a Jedi, but that doesn't mean I'm above my emotions. A little retribution never hurt." She winked, unfurling the auxiliary joint. The span was impressively steady, the feathers barely even moving from the draft. "The smaller box Waxer brought in should have all the tools you require."

Trapper, with Trip's help, pulled the small box over and opened it. "Are they supposed to look like brushes?"

She nodded. "Consider it similar to brushing your hair. The membrane holding the feathers to my wing secretes an oil that waterproofs and cleans the feathers. Your job will be to brush that oil down along the feather and clean the brush when those white bristles go grey."

"You don't look dirty to me." 

"Perhaps. My colouring also hides dirt and sand better than most." She smirked, settling herself down and pulling the larger box over to her with the Force. She set out all the pieces, the paint next to her. She waited until all the clones were seated - three to a wing and Kayd behind her to tend her shoulder joints - then lowered the metallic plumage to settle in their laps. 

"Heavier than they look." Blair commented, running curious fingers over the surprisingly soft fringe. 

"I'll never doubt your strength again." Click muttered, tracing her primary flights. 

She hummed. "Alright, gentlemen. Please tell me which pieces you lost and which pattern you chose."

Cody would walk in, hours later, to find drying armour, seven deeply immersed brothers and his Jedi pleasantly meditating. The serenity was palpable, the Force nearly tangible it radiated so thickly from their General. She didn't even seem to notice when Kayd pulled a little too hard trying to intricately braid her waist-length hair. 

"Join us, Commander." She hummed, opening one eye. "I know you've been wanting to find time to repaint your armour. I'm sure the Council can wait another few hours for the report. I only used a quarter of the can anyway."

 _A few hours_ turned into  _a day or so_. Once the word got out that the General was letting the brothers preen her and fresh paint was available, every brother wanted a turn. She mediated for two days, each brother getting an hour to groom her under Cody's supervision, wearing Kayd's elaborate braid-crown. 

When they were done, her plumage glowed with its own light and that's when the first whispers of her new name began.

* * *

It was memories like that which followed him into situations like this. 

The pilot opened one side of the ship's doors when they were at a low enough altitude and she jumped out. It wasn't long before that radiant colour streaked past them, their General flying high and leading the charge. It was those times, kept close to his heart, that drove him to issue his command when the Separatists fired their new weapon. 

The shell exploded in mid-air, right in front of her. Instinct lead her to throw up her wings to shield her from the impact, so she missed the opening of a giant wormhole and flew right into it. His heart stopped when she vanished. 

"Commander, we lost transmission! What do we do?"

"What we always do." He replied. "We follow Firebird."

* * *

There were a lot of rumours surrounding what happened on Reitein, when Kenobi and the main company of the 212th disappeared. 

What was for sure was the agony of the cry, the viciousness of the follow-up assault and the magma of Skywalker's eyes. 

Rex looked up at the setting sun, reminded of brilliant feathers and fallen Jedi. Then he turned, meeting the inquisitive eyes of Gregor, and climbing aboard the AT-TE to walk off into the desert. 


End file.
